


the devil and the wolf

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Crack Taken Seriously, Crossover Pairings, Deaf Clint Barton, Kidnapping, Lies, M/M, Secret Identity, Vigilantism, coffee dates, matt is smooth and jon is flattered and blushing a lot, vigilante!jon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4132047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I fell down the stairs," Matt says.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Jon makes a face. "Funny," he says, "me too."</i>
</p><p>Or: Matt meets up with Jon Snow again, weeks after the speed dating event, and a courtship of sorts begins. Meanwhile, Daredevil runs into the new, crow-masked vigilante in town. These two events are more related than Matt might think. (Or: Jon and Matt, vigilantes in love!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you know that i could use somebody

**Author's Note:**

> somebody on the kinkmeme wanted more Matt/Jon and I said _why the fuck not, I can't do worse than the two guys in charge of the most expensive fanfic ever_. five parts on the kinkmeme later, and it's not yet done.
> 
> [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4066192) is not actually required reading, but it does help if you want to know how Matt and Jon met up in the first place, and there's also a few throwaway references to the three others that Matt met up with during the speed dating event.

Matt runs into Jon Snow again at, of all places, a _coffeeshop_.

"Matt?" a familiar voice asks, and Matt knows that voice, would know the scent of wet dog and woodsmoke and snow, covered by oakmoss, lavender, and sage--not _anywhere_ , really, but he knows it well enough that he can identify the person here, at least.

"Jon," Matt greets, giving him a smile. He hasn't met the others from the speed-dating thing Foggy signed him up for in weeks--Isabela's off with Hawke in California, likely doing something just toeing the line between legal and illegal, and Diaz has been tied up with leading a task force, apparently. Gilderoy, he'd rather not think about. "What brings you all the way out to Hell's Kitchen? Again."

"A few things happened on the Wall," Jon says, evasively, "and now I have to lie low. As it were."

"Need a lawyer?" Matt asks, and Jon huffs out a laugh. His hair brushes against his shoulders, and Matt figures he just shook his head before Jon says, "I shook my head, by the way. No, I don't think I'll be needing one right now, but if I do, you'll be the first I'll call."

"I'd be jealous if you didn't," Matt jokes, and Jon chuckles.

It's a pleasant sound, like music to Matt.

\--

"Matt," says Foggy, "did you meet somebody?"

Matt pauses the tape he's listening to. "What?" he asks.

"Did you meet somebody?" Foggy asks. "Because you walked into the office like you were floating on cloud nine, and you've got the biggest grin on your face right now. The _I'm Matt Murdock and I'm in love and I'm gonna make my best friend suffer because she's hot and also has questionable morals_ grin, in fact."

"Not a _she_ , Foggy," says Matt.

Foggy throws his hands up in the air. "Oh my god, no," he says, "please don't be dating _Jack Harley_ again. Does he not know what a personal pronoun is? 'Cause a man said he was gonna kick his ass for leaving you."

"Nah, not Jack," Matt assures him. "His name's Jon--you remember the speed-dating thing?"

"Didn't you go home with Diaz after that?"

"Yeah," says Matt, "but it didn't last. Jon's not as bad as Jack, he uses personal pronouns to refer to himself and everything. I don't think he's in legal trouble." At least Jon's heartbeat had been fairly steady when Matt had asked, and heartbeats are Matt's most reliable indicator of a liar.

"So I don't have to wipe down my baseball bat threateningly when he comes over to talk to you?"

Matt chuckles, and says, "No, I really don't think so, Foggy."

\--

There's news of another family moving in rippling through the criminal underworld--the Lannisters, apparently. _The lions_ , as they're so affectionately named by the people Daredevil beats up for information, after running into their drug trafficking operation.

They're bad news. He's heard of what they did with the Starks, a family full of activists, cops, lawyers--the dad's dead, an execution-style killing, and so's the mother (supposedly), and the kids are scattered to the wind. The oldest's supposedly dead, but there's scattered whispers about how he isn't. The eldest girl's missing, after having escaped from a glorified hostage situation and an abusive boyfriend, and the youngest girl as well--also given up as dead, though there are rumors. The two youngest boys, they're dead too, or so Matt's heard, at the hand of a man who's gone mysteriously missing.

There's a lot of missing persons cases, or so he finds out, all of them people who crossed the Lannisters one way or another. All told, they're apparently a powerful family, though with the death of their patriarch and disappearance of his killer (and, coincidentally, his dwarf son) lately their powerbase is beginning to crumble.

Matt helps it along, making sure to show up near the docks to ruin their already horrible year even more. He manages, one night, to interrupt a shipment of cocaine from moving in, but comes limping back to his apartment, wincing a little when he touches his cheek and his fingers come away wet with blood.

He'll pass it off to Jon as a shaving accident tomorrow, the wound doesn't feel that bad to him.

It takes him a moment to realize--he's expecting to see Jon tomorrow, if he's planning to _lie_ to him already, and he feels just a little bit guilty about that. Jon, surely, deserves better than to be lied to, but Matt doesn't think the truth would be taken any better, and besides. It's not as though Matt's not used to lying through his teeth to someone he cares about.

\--

(Months later, he'll look back on that night and laugh, hysterically.)


	2. holy water cannot help you now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I have--let's say, a personal interest in seeing the Lannisters' empire fall."_
> 
> Or: Daredevil runs into the new vigilante in town. It's not as pleasant as Matt and Jon's meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: violence, human trafficking for Very Bad Reasons ( _fuck Littlefinger_ ), and off-screen drugging of a minor character. also, vague references to Theon's myriad issues and also what happened to him during ADWD, but at least he's getting along better?

"You know," says Matt, amused, "we keep running into each other like this, Jon, you're going to make me think you're trying to court me."

"I'm not very good at courting people," Jon admits, but there's a smile in his tone. "Or so I've been told. Anyway, I never had a reason to do so." He can hear the liquid in Jon's cup sloshing about inside, can see Jon's silhouette moving its hands a little--starting to, at least, before stopping, as though remembering.

"Is that why your friends signed you up for a speed-dating thing?" Matt asks.

"That," Jon says, "and because, according to them, I needed to loosen up a bit." A fond huff of laughter. "Asses, the lot of them."

"I hear you," Matt says. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't dream of missing it." There's a pause, then Jon adds, "What happened to your face, anyway?"

Matt shrugs. "Cut myself shaving," he says, making sure that his tone is just self-deprecating enough ( _clumsy me, should've paid attention_ ) that Jon drops the issue.

\--

That night, Matt's on the docks, crouching on top of a crate and listening. Eight heartbeats, three panicked and unsteady, one slow and sluggish as though it's been drugged, four others steady. Eight sets of footsteps, four purposefully striding, three light and skittering and trying to get away, one half-dragged by somebody. Crying, two boys with high voices, one girl who sounds only slightly order, begging to go home, someone slurring their words.

Matt waits, until they're just beneath him and have shoved the kids--because that's what they are, just _kids_ , and Matt is going to make these bastards _pay_ \--into a shipping container.

Then he leaps.

"Shit, fuck, it's _Daredevil_ \--"

"You _fuckhead_ , fucking _shoot him_ \--"

Matt doesn't give him a chance to. A strike to the solar plexus downs him, and he slams his foot down on the guy's wrist and hears a crunch, followed by a scream.

A flick of a switchblade, behind him. Matt kicks the first man in the head, then turns, kicking out. There's a curse, and the knife clatters to the ground. The man swings, catches Matt in the cheek (and _fuck_ that's going to bruise), then presses his advantage, knee landing in Matt's stomach so hard that Matt nearly doubles over.

Someone else, behind him, with a crowbar. Matt ducks, rolls, hears the crowbar slam into switchblade man. Crowbar curses, swings again, and this time he gets Matt in the side, and _fuck_ that's a rib, that's going to hurt like a bitch, but he ducks again and swings his leg out in a wide arc, sweeping the man off his feet and bringing him down.

Someone else, switchblade man, drawing a gun. Crate to the left. Matt takes out an escrima stick and throws, hearing a satisfying _thwack_ and _thud_.

Crowbar's still in play, though, and grappling for his crowbar. Matt kicks it away, but he hears someone else behind him--fourth man, then, dual-wielding two knives from the sound they make sliding out of their scabbards--who _does_ that, this isn't that video game Foggy loves so much--and has to jump out of the way over Crowbar.

He hears another heartbeat, but--but there's something muffled about it. He can't identify it, can't tell if it's familiar or not, but he can hear its footsteps on the crates, can tell that it's carrying a sword in its hand.

Crowbar says, "Oh, _shit_."

"The Devil _and_ Lord Snow?" Knives says, fear undercutting his confident tone. "Ha, we can take 'em. Right?"

"That's what you think," Matt says, just as the figure--Lord Snow, apparently--leaps off the crates. Body armor, Kevlar vest, a fucking _sword_. Who uses a sword, this is _Hell's Kitchen_ , not a Ren-Faire.

He doesn't think about it further, instead throwing himself back into the fight. Crowbar swings his gun arm up and gets off a shot that deflects off Matt's suit (he wonders how much chocolate milk is he going to have to get for Potter, because this suit works like a _dream_ ), and Matt grabs his arm and twists it behind his back (hears a popping noise and a shriek, he won't be able to use that arm for a while), slamming him up against a crate with enough force to knock him out for the count.

He turns, and Lord Snow's parrying off the blows from Knives with not much success. Well, of course, who brings a goddamn _sword_ to a knife fight.

Matt grabs the gun, fiddles with it. The magazine falls into his palm, and he throws, catching Knives in the head and getting his attention.

Lord Snow swings, the flat of the blade slamming into the back of Knives' head, and knocks him out.

\--

They get the kids to safety, after Matt tells Lord Snow, in no uncertain terms, to look away--he'll _know_ , if he doesn't, and the other man complies, standing guard outside as Matt takes his helmet off to let the kids know that they're fine, they're _safe_.

Matt drops the drugged girl and her friend off at their apartment, after which the girl gives him her name-- _Jane Poole, and thank you, thank you so much, I don't have to go back, **thank you**_ \--and gives Lord Snow a small peck on the cheek.

"You really don't have to do that," says the poor man, and Matt snorts out a laugh--he doesn't have to be able to see to tell he's blushing.

"Thank you both," says Jane. "I--look, I don't know any way to repay you, except this: if you ever need information, I used to--work under them, you could say. It was not a nice experience. If you ever need my help, with information or just--some place to stay, I guess? Just knock on my window, the one with the cactus on the fire escape." She gives her address, and with it brushes her lips against Matt's cheek. "Thank you, Daredevil," she whispers, then half-drags her friend inside, shutting the window.

\--

When they've left (via fire escape), Matt turns to Lord Snow on the rooftop and says, very calmly, "What the _hell_."

"You needed help," says the guy.

"I've faced worse odds than a man with a crowbar and someone with a fighting style easily defended against," says Matt. "What the hell were you _thinking_? You can't fight someone with a sword, especially not someone with a _knife_. Or, god forbid, a _gun_."

"Says the man who's taking people on with his bare hands," Lord Snow says, turning to walk away. "That was how I learned, anyway."

"Unlearn it," Matt says, bluntly, following behind. "It's going to be nothing but trouble, if you want to keep doing this. And a word of advice, Lord Snow: _don't_."

Lord Snow stops walking, then, and Matt manages to duck the thrown punch and grab his arm, gripping it tight enough to hurt.

"Are you going to have a spat over territory with me?" Lord Snow asks, his tone soft, with a thread of anger woven in. "Because you aren't the only one here who lives in Hell's Kitchen, Daredevil. You're not the only one who wants to keep this city _safe_."

"Those men at the docks knew you," says Matt, not letting go. "The Lannisters--and their associates--moved in only recently. You're hounding them, have been for a while. Haven't you?"

"Someone has to," says Lord Snow, his heartbeat holding steady. "And yes, I have--let's say, a personal interest in seeing the Lannisters' empire fall." He lets out a little hiss of pain, and adds, "You realize I'm on your side, in this? They're powerful, and you're going to need all the help you can get if you were to try and bring them down, somehow."

Matt lets out a breath, then lets go. Lord Snow huffs out a relieved sigh, gloved hand rubbing against his arm, and says, "Thank you for that much, I suppose."

"My point still stands," says Matt. "Find a fighting style that won't get you killed, or stop doing this. So far you got lucky. One night you may not be so fortunate."

"I'll keep that in mind," Lord Snow says, then jumps off the edge of the building. Matt hears a soft thud, then the sound of footsteps getting farther and farther away, until it fades into the rest of the noises he hears during the night.

\--

"Jesus fuck, Jon," says Robb, opening the window to let Jon in. "Are those _knife wounds_?"

"Not again," Sam says, digging out his medical kit as Robb maneuvers Jon to a couch as ugly as sin, with faint bloodstains still on the cushions. _The Couch_ , as Jon thinks of it, because a lot of blood has seeped into its cushions over the past months--like Robb's, like Theon's, and now Jon's. "You really need better body armor than just this, you know."

"This is the best we can get, Sam, I've told you that before," says Jon, wincing as Robb drops him none-too-gently on The Couch.

"I know," says Sam, with a sigh. At least he isn't turning green or taking a swig from a bottle, the first few times they had to do this, Sam had taken a swig from Robb's stash and afterwards thrown up in the bathroom. "Hold still."

Jon glances around their apartment. It's not a bad one, as apartments go, and it's certainly better than you'd expect, with two of the occupants technically dead and another on the run. There's steady electricity, it doesn't leak too much, and it's cozy.

His gaze lands on Theon, who's clicking away on his laptop and not paying attention to any of them. It's a good day, then, if Theon's up for information-gathering.

"I saw Jane," says Jon.

Theon blinks, turns to look at him. "Shit," he says, his voice hoarse, then: "She okay? Why is she in _Hell's Kitchen_ , anyway? Wait," and here he pales, "if you saw her, did she--"

"She's fine, I got her out before she and anyone else could get hurt," says Jon. "She's got an address here. If you want to see her."

"Think it'd be best for everyone if I didn't," says Theon. "I'd just remind her and bring a lot more danger to her doorstep, anyway. Don't forget, there are still people after my head." He points at Robb, then adds, "Unlike _you_."

"You know anything about Daredevil?" Jon says, before Robb can say something about how he'd rather not pay a price like this, where he can't do a damn thing for fear of exposing himself or anyone else he cares about to danger, _again_.

"He was _all over the news_ months ago, Snow," says Theon. "Yeah, I know some things, unlike some people I can name. Me and literally anybody you ask in Hell's Kitchen. Why?"

Jon rolls his eyes, but says, "Because I ran into him today too. Bit of an ass."

Robb makes a choked noise and says, " _Daredevil_?"

"I'd have liked to see that," says Sam, carefully stitching up the gash where the knife managed to get through the Kevlar. "He took down Fisk's empire, he's a good ally to have on your side."

"He's an _ass_ ," Jon says.

"He does have a very nice ass," Theon says. "BuzzFeed says so."

" _Greyjoy_ \--"

Theon grins, showing broken teeth. It's a ghastly picture, and Jon looks away.

"Don't you have a date tomorrow, with that Matt guy?" Robb asks. "How are you going to explain the bruises?"

"He's blind, he won't notice them," says Jon. "And if he does, it's simple."

\--

"I fell down the stairs," Matt says.

Jon makes a face. "Funny," he says, "me too." He deepens his voice, and says, "Stairs, the _real_ terror of Hell's Kitchen."

"Tremble, all you evil-doers," Matt remarks, and they both laugh. "That said, how about I buy you some coffee?"

"Sounds like fun," says Jon, and means it.


	3. i give my love (a four-letter name)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Okay," she says, grabbing a belt and folding it up, "bite down on this. This is going to hurt."_
> 
> Or: Matt gets ribbed on by his best friends, flirts with the guy he likes, and drags the new vigilante in town over to Claire's when he gets shot in the leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the alternate, non-song title to this is: "matt murdock should probably recognize when someone is using the same tricks on him that he used on karen and foggy, for fuck's sake". another alternate title: "claire would like all the superheroes to please find another nurse so she can have a good night's sleep, kthx".

"You're looking chipper today," says Karen, the _clack-clack_ of her fingers on the keyboard stuttering to a momentary stop when Matt steps inside. "Also less bruised up than usual. Had a good night?"

"Matt's in _looooove_ ," Foggy calls from his office, his tone slightly off-key. "With someone who isn't Lady Justice or Hell's Kitchen, to boot!"

"So you're cheating on Hell's Kitchen?" Karen asks, with a laugh, and Matt chuckles, leaning his cane against the doorway. "Never thought that would happen. Who's the new mistress?"

"His name's Jon," Matt says, and Karen gives a soft _oh_. "We've been running into each other in the coffeeshop nearby a lot, and before that--do you remember the speed dating thing Foggy signed us all up for?"

"How could I forget," says Karen, "I met up with Claire that way." She moves her head, hair rustling over her clothes, and Matt figures she's glanced at the clock. "We're on for lunch tomorrow, and we're going to talk about this one patient of hers who keeps getting beat up a lot and climbing in through her window so she can patch him up."

"Hey, can I join in?" Foggy says, emerging from his office. "I've got this best friend, very handsome, very ethical, who also keeps getting beat up because he's also a _vigilante_."

"Sounds kind of like an asshole," Matt remarks, but he's grinning nonetheless. "Have fun on that lunch, Karen."

"I intend to have lots of it," Karen says, resuming her typing. "Hey, by the way," she adds, "did you run into this new guy? He's called--"

"--Lord Snow," Matt finishes, his tone a little clipped. There's still something about him that Matt can't place, even though it's been a week since they first ran into each other, and Snow's been--well, he's been helpful, that's true, but Matt's just a little bit suspicious. "I know, I've run into him, too."

"Figured as much," says Karen. "Here--he's been going after Lannister Corporation and their associates, plus the companies connected to them, for a while. Exposing criminal activities, busting up shadier operations, stuff like that." She waves Foggy over, and Matt moves to hover over the edge of her desk. "It helps that apparently the CEO was murdered recently, and the head of one of the other companies--Kingsland Limited, I think--went missing."

"Tyrion Lannister," says Matt.

"These people have weird names," says Foggy. "There's a guy named James Lannister, but he goes by Jamie, and that's the most normal name there is in this family."

"There's a lot of missing persons reports," says Karen. "Kevan--you're right, Foggy--Lannister, Jamie Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Faith Stokeworth, Sansa Stark--"

"Stark?" Foggy asks. "Wait, like, Tony Stark?"

"No," says Matt. "I'm told it's a different family."

"Yeah, _was_ , actually," says Karen, absently. "Apparently every one of them is either dead or missing. And they're not the first family that it's happened to."

A cold silence settles over all three of them. Fisk is gone, rotting in prison where he belongs, but the people who've moved in to take his place are just as ruthless as he is, Matt realizes. Months ago he'd have tried to keep Karen and Foggy in the dark, to keep them safe, but now things are different.

"Be careful, Matt," says Karen.

"Yeah, don't pull a vanishing act like these guys keep doing," Foggy says. "And tell that to this Lord Snow guy, too."

"I won't," says Matt, fingers brushing over his watch. "Anyway, Foggy, how are we on the Chapman case?"

\--

"Shouldn't you be doing lawyer things, Matt?" Jon says, when Matt slides into the seat across from him, two coffees in hand already. A week on, and Matt finds himself already getting used to Jon's presence, to the smell of wet dog and hair gel and woodsmoke. Were Jon to go, Matt's certain he'd miss his presence greatly.

"I'm a name partner in my own firm," says Matt, setting Jon's coffee--black, three sugars--down in the middle of the table. Jon leans forward, fingers brushing against Matt's when he takes the cup, and they're warm and calloused and he's going to have to get Foggy so many bagels, isn't he. "Perks of being your own boss: you get to come and go whenever you like."

"Must be nice," Jon wistfully says.

"It could be better," Matt says. "Could stand to have a working coffeemaker, again, but there'd be a drawback."

"I don't see what the drawback is in having a working coffeemaker," says Jon, raising his cup to his lips. "You wouldn't need to spend so much on coffee."

"I wouldn't run into you as often," says Matt, and Jon's hand freezes.

"Smooth," says Jon, and Matt can hear his heart beat fast, can tell that his cheeks are flushing hotter. He smiles, and Jon's heart beats even faster, as loud as drums. "I should thank your friend, for signing you up. I haven't had company like yours in--a while, let's just say."

"Well, Foggy's pretty fond of anything that could clog his arteries, so if you get him a burger stacked higher than the Eiffel you'll be fine."

"Sounds like my brother," Jon says, wryly. "Just with anything that could rot his teeth." There's a sip, and he says, "I'd love to meet them sometime, you know. Your friends."

"They've been needling me about you for a while," says Matt, taking a sip of his own coffee--Americano, two sugars. Despite the sugar, the bitter taste is overwhelming. "Karen and Foggy are good people," they're his _family_ , "so don't panic if you see Foggy shining his baseball bat in his office. Or if Karen starts asking you personal questions."

"Funny," says Jon, "I think my roommates would do much the same." His sleeve rustles against his arm (and Matt can hear the fabric brushing up against the faded bruises and--stitches? What's Jon doing that he needs _stitches_?), and he says, "Shit, I have to go--my ex and I have shared custody of our dog, and I've got to pick him up."

_That explains the wet dog smell_. "You've got a dog?" Matt asks, feigning ignorance.

"Yeah, his name's Ghost," says Jon, standing up and patting himself down, downing the whole cup of coffee. "He's quiet, but he's friendly. You could meet him if you want, right now."

"Not much of a fan of dogs," says Matt.

"Blasphemy and heresy," Jon jokes. "Same time tomorrow?"

"I'll meet you then," says Matt, and when Jon leaves, the scent of woodsmoke and wet dog still lingers in the air.

Matt doesn't have to wait long for it to dissipate, drinking down the rest of his coffee and standing up as well, then walking out of the shop and tapping his way down the sidewalk.

When he gets back to the office, Foggy pokes his head up from the Chapman files and says, sounding absolutely resigned, "I'm going to have to dust off the rental tuxedo, aren't I."

\--

Jon runs into Daredevil again that night, interrupting a mugging in progress, and he really, really needs to improve his armor, because a bullet manages to get his leg and it is _painful_ , good god, it's like someone ran a fucking _truck_ over his leg whenever he puts his weight on it.

Also, he's pretty sure a rib's broken. _Ow._

"I'll give you this much, Snow," says Daredevil, hauling Jon's bleeding ass through a window--apparently he's got a nurse on call as well, had phoned her ahead of time, and Jon wishes he could get to Sam but Sam's apartment is too far away from here, "at least you took my advice on finding another fighting style."

"Where do you even get your armor, is my question," Jon grouses. Things are getting a bit--spinny. He's pretty sure he shouldn't lose this much blood. Actually, he _knows_ he shouldn't lose this much blood.

"A friend," says Daredevil, just as a woman opens and shuts the door behind her and gives them both a good, long look. "Claire, this is Lord Snow. Snow, Claire."

"M-- _Daredevil_ ," says Claire, and Jon glances sharply at Daredevil, "between you, the Hawkeyes, Jess, and Iron Fist, I'm beginning to think you superhero-types really need to expand your circle of friends."

"I'm--" Daredevil (whose name apparently begins with an M) starts.

"--not a superhero-type, I know, I know," says Claire, pulling latex gloves on. "Help the new guy over to the couch and put his weird glowy sword on the table, I'll get my things."

\--

"Can I take your mask--"

" _No_."

Claire sighs. "Daredevil, out of the apartment, now," she says to the man in red leather. Jon just barely manages to lift his head to see Daredevil sigh, then leap over the windowsill and climb up the fire escape. "I know you can still hear me, so try the rooftop two buildings over," she continues, and Jon sees a red figure leap off the rooftop and onto the next just a few minutes later, disappearing from view.

"He can hear you from there?" Jon asks.

"He hears a lot of things," says Claire, her tone fond. "Now can I take the mask off?"

Jon lets out a breath, then reaches up to lift the beaked mask off, hands shaking.

"Jesus," says Claire. "Someone really did a number on your face."

"You should see the other guy," Jon manages weakly. Claire sighs, then motions for him to take his pants off--which, as he soon finds out, proves to be something of a challenge, though he eventually manages.

"Okay," says Claire, "you're lucky the bullet passed, but now we need to cauterize this wound. I take it you don't want painkillers."

"Absolutely not," says Jon. "I'm allergic to a lot of painkillers. Otherwise I'd be taking them."

Claire's eyes widen, then she breaks into a laugh. "You," she says, " _you_ , Lord Snow, are the first superhero-type I have ever met who actually is allergic to painkillers." She waves a hand to her still-open window, and adds, "Everyone else I've met keeps turning them down because it interferes with their senses, or their powers, or--whatever noble, self-sacrificing, senseless reason they've got."

"I'm not--"

"--a superhero-type?" Claire says. "You put on a mask, go out at night, risk your life to keep the streets safe? Sounds like one to me." She sighs, looking down at the bullet wound. "Okay," she says, grabbing a belt and folding it up, "bite down on this. This is going to _hurt_."

\--

It hurts.

A _lot._

Matt can tell, because he can hear the scream from three buildings over and the flapping of pigeon's wings overhead.

\--

Matt ends up dropping Lord Snow off on another fire escape. He gives the window a few sharp knocks, Snow leaning heavily against him, and waits.

The sound of someone unlatching the window, and when it opens, he finds himself assaulted with the scent of dried blood and--cookies?

"Holy shit," says the figure who opened the window. He's thin, and Matt can tell that he's wearing gloves (two fingers stuffed with cotton on the left hand, one on the right) and swaying unsteadily on feet with too few toes. "You're _Daredevil_."

"So I'm told," says Matt, dryly.

"You're a _smartass_ ," says the guy, approvingly, then he turns to call to the other two inside the apartment--one's fat and his heart is hammering fast, frozen as he is in the doorway to his bedroom, the other's on the lean but muscled side and watching them from the kitchen. "Stark! Tarly! Help me and Daredevil get Snow through the window, yeah?"

_Stark._ He wonders if he's found one of the supposedly-dead Starks, tonight--he can't really tell, without having met any of them beforehand, but he's guessing it's one of the older Starks, from the height and build. Robb, perhaps, or the half-brother none of the news outlets have really deigned to name.

They manage to get Snow through the window just fine, with Matt's none-too-gentle help, and just as Matt turns to leave, the one from the kitchen--Stark, he's certain--leans out onto the windowsill and says, quiet, "Thanks, Daredevil."

"For what?" Matt asks.

"Making sure my brother gets home."

\--

"What happened with your leg?" Matt asks two days afterwards, alarm bells ringing in his head when he realizes Jon is leaning against a crutch.

"Got shot," says Jon, his heartbeat steady. "Got into a mugging, we got into a fight, his gun went off and got me in the leg." He waves his free hand and says, "It's fine, before you ask. He's in jail, and I don't really want to press charges. Also, what happened to your face?"

"Doorknob," says Matt. It isn't--It isn't _fine_ , and it must show, because Jon lets out a breath.

"I told you I'd call you if I got into legal trouble," he says. "So far, besides some asshole mugging me, I've been doing fine. I'm not in legal trouble." He places a warm hand over Matt's, and Matt wonders where he's been getting them, those callouses. Matt wonders a lot of things about Jon. "How about some coffee?"

"I'm in the mood for something extra today," says Matt, summoning up a smile. "How about a blueberry muffin?"


	4. INTERLUDE: like starlight crashing through the roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Met Matt again?"_
> 
> _"And if I did, how would you know?"_
> 
> Or: Robb and Theon take a moment to rib Jon about the lawyer he's been seeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's Theon/Robb in here, but it's not really explicit, per se. couldn't resist sneaking my ship in.

"Met Matt again?" Robb asks, when Jon hobbles back to the apartment with, he is assured, the biggest, stupidest grin on his face, one that lasts even when Ghost headbutts his leg. Sam is out to work at the hospital, the only one out of the four of them to have a steady job (that doesn't involve punching people in the face every night) and no need to lie low because of reasons that involve being technically dead or missing, something for which Jon is quietly thankful for.

After all, he really doesn't need Robb, Theon _and_ Sam ribbing him about--whatever Matt is.

"And if I did, how would you know?" Jon asks, limping over to sink into the armchair and letting Ghost climb up to rub his belly.

Theon, draped as he is over The Couch (and thus using Robb's lap as a convenient pillow), says, "Your _face_ , Snow. You look happier than Robb does when Barton asks him to dog-sit."

"You're a lot happier," says Robb, absently carding his fingers through Theon's bone-white hair. "I haven't seen you smile like that since--" he cuts himself off, his mouth twisting into a sad smile. "Since before," he finishes.

 _Before_ , he says, and Jon thinks of snowball fights, of Arya's laughter, of the strains of Taylor Swift battling with My Chemical Romance for dominance over the house. Winterfell Manor is a burnt-out shell now of what it used to be, what little left of it occupied by strangers, the Starks scattered across the continent, and for a moment the thought cuts savagely into Jon's heart.

Theon doesn't say a word, instead pushes himself up to a sitting position and pulls his knees up to his chest.

Ghost whines on Jon's lap, as though wondering where his belly scratches went. "Sorry, boy," Jon says, returning his hand to Ghost's belly.

Robb lets out a breath, and then says, "But--yeah, I haven't seen you this happy in a while."

"I've never seen you this happy _ever_ ," Theon remarks, uncurling, and the only reason why Jon doesn't throw something at him is because Robb would get that sad, slightly pinched look on his face that makes Jon feel guilty, like he kicked a puppy or something.

Instead he settles for sniping, "Around _you_?"

"Break it up, you two," Robb says, warningly. "You should bring him, sometime."

"So you can threaten him?" Jon asks. "You were a lawyer too, you know."

"Exactly," Robb says, but there's a light, teasing note to his words. "Who better than a lawyer to know how treacherous the rest can get?"

"Matt's a _pro bono_ lawyer," says Jon, scratching now on Ghost's head, behind his ears, just as Theon says, "I checked him and his firm out on the 'Net, they're like--the only honest lawyers in all of New York, I think. Which explains why their site's layout is so sad."

"Broke lawyer with a taste for expensive organic coffee, from what you keep telling us," says Robb, grinning now. "I guess you are perfect for each other."

Jon groans. "You're never going to let up, are you?" he asks.

"Nope," says Robb, just as Theon says, unrepentantly, " _Never_."


	5. it just comes way too natural to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"How do you feel about all the vigilantes running around Hell's Kitchen?"_
> 
> Or: Matthew Murdock is a goddamn liar, Jon Snow is also a goddamn liar, and Kate Bishop is the only one in this trio who isn't currently lying to someone about her nighttime activities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on a one-woman More Kate Bishop in Everything 2k15 campaign, it seems.
> 
> I just want you all to know that the gdocs title for this chapter was "EVERYONE IS A FUCKING LIAR". because they are. fucking liars, that is.

It takes a while, but eventually Matt finds himself falling into a--a habit, of sorts: every lunch break he has, he spends it at the coffeeshop, talking with Jon over what he can tell him of his caseload, Jon's dog, the Wall, Columbia, everything. It's at the point where he can hear Foggy and Karen whispering to each other about how long it'll take, before he and Jon end up in bed, every time he takes his cane and leaves the office.

Matt's not really sure, just yet. It would be nice, Jon's certainly attractive if you ignore the wet dog smell, and if Matt has had a few dreams involving his calloused hands then that's between him and his subconscious, but--he likes this easy companionship they have between them, despite what Matt's inner Stick might have to say about that.

"This pad thai," Jon says, swallowing, "is _amazing_. Where do you get all this food?"

"Karen and I are trying to get Foggy to vary his diet," says Matt, finishing off his less spicy ratatouille, courtesy of the coffeeshop. "So far, it's working surprisingly well."

"He's a lot more receptive than my brother is," Jon wryly notes, pushing the plate away. "Hey, Matt, you're a lawyer. How do you feel about all the vigilantes running around Hell's Kitchen?"

Matt pauses, and is quietly glad that Jon can't hear his heartbeat, because it's just spiked. "You mean all the people taking the law into their own hands?" he asks. "As a lawyer, not very well."

"Why not?" Jon asks. "A vigilante took down Wilson Fisk, right?"

"That's a fairly simplistic way of putting it," Matt remarks, managing to keep the smile from spreading. "Fisk's arrest and incarceration were due to a number of factors--his destabilizing empire, the confession of a detective on his payroll, the loss of a number of his allies, the tireless work of--"

"--your firm, I know, I know," says Jon, with a huff. "But Fisk escaped, and someone found him and managed to stop him. _Daredevil Collars Fisk_ \--I read about that."

"In a tabloid newspaper that months before that had the color of the subway line as a headline," Matt dryly says, tapping his fingers on his cane. "I don't really trust anyone who decides to take the law into their own hands and not answer to anyone other than themselves. I'm not sure if they aren't as bad as the criminals they assault and beat half to death on a daily basis."

"Harsh," says Jon.

"True," says Matt. "The law is there for a reason."

"But you know the law doesn't always work," Jon says, snatching up some of the meat on his plate and bending down to feed Ghost. The dog's oddly silent, save for the occasional whine and whimper. "How long did it take for anyone to catch on that Fisk had half the police force in his payroll?"

 _Too long_ , Matt thinks. Out loud he says, "Which is why we have to _make_ it work. There's always other avenues within the law that you can use, without having to resort to working outside of it. Without dressing up and going out to beat people to within an inch of their lives.” He leans forward, and says, “A vigilante did catch Fisk, yes, but his illegal activities were exposed by people working _within_ the law.” _Mostly_ , he doesn’t say.

“Take advantage of the law for too long and the law will bite back?” Jon dryly says.

“That’s a fair summation,” Matt says. “Why the interest? Do you know somebody who’s a vigilante?”

He means it as a joke, but Jon’s heartbeat soars. “Not really, no,” Jon says ( _lies_ ). “I was just curious. There’s a lot of vigilantes in New York--Daredevil, Iron Fist, one of the Hawkeyes, Luke Cage, Spider-Man, Spider- _Woman_ , they’ve all been making the news lately. I got a bit curious.”

“I hear there’s another in town,” Matt says. “Someone who calls himself Lord Snow.”

“Ha,” Jon snorts, “terrible name. I’m sure even he hates it, it’s just so bad.” He stands up, winding Ghost’s leash around his arm, and says, “I should go, I’ve got an interview I should be getting to. Thanks for the pad thai, Matt, we should visit that restaurant sometime.”

“Same time tomorrow?” Matt asks, smiling up at Jon, not letting the worry show. He can hear Jon's heart racing, louder than drums.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jon promises.

\--

When Matt meets Snow again, it isn’t in the middle of a fight, surprisingly. He’s on top of a rooftop, talking to someone already, and it doesn’t take too long for Matt to identify the other voice--Kate Bishop, also known as Hawkeye, also known as the woman running the private investigation service in the building right next to the Nelson & Murdock offices.

“Daredevil!” Kate says, when Matt pulls himself up onto the rooftop. At least she doesn’t nearly say his real name, it’s a hard habit to break when you’ve gotten into it, and a dangerous one as well. “Hey, you’ve teamed up with this Lord Snow guy more than I have. Tell him I’m being helpful and that he can stop sulking now.”

“I wouldn’t say we teamed up, exactly,” Matt remarks. “More like he stuck his nose into a fight I had under control once.”

“And then you took him to Claire’s,” says Kate. “That’s kind of like saying, _Welcome to Superhero Club, don’t scream while we get your bleeding ass patched up_. Which reminds me, are you going to complete the tour and take him to Melvin’s?”

“Superhero Club?” Snow asks.

Kate shrugs, and says, “The name’s a work in progress.” Her fiery silhouette steps forward, and her dark hair rustles against the material of her costume. “Hey, you have Kevlar. That’s--well, that’s one thing you did better than almost everyone else.”

“Just for the upper body,” says Snow. “Couldn’t really get anything else. Also, the Lannisters’ warehouse--”

“--is too big for one person to break into alone, especially not wielding a futzing _glowing sword_ ,” says Kate. “What, is it magic?”

“...yes,” Snow admits. “And the mask. It’s--hard to explain.”

“That explains a lot to me,” Matt says, his tone somewhat sour. He’s run into magic once or twice. It’s never ended well for anyone, least of all him (and Karen, one time)--he’s not a big fan. Magic might be able to explain why Matt can’t place his heartbeat, familiar as it sounds, why every time he tries it just slips past his fingertips, why he doesn’t really smell of anything other than snow, and when he’s in a fight, fire. “But I digress. What exactly are you both butting heads for?”

“There’s a warehouse,” Kate says, “just nearby, full of illegal weapons and a lot of drugs that should not go anywhere near the streets, and a futzload of information that implicates a lot of big and bad guys in big and bad deeds on its computers. I’ve been following up on leads about it for weeks, and then this guy,” she jabs a thumb in Snow’s direction, “nearly _attacks_ me.”

“In my defense, I thought you were a Lannister man,” says Snow, ducking his head. Matt hears his hair brushing against his shoulder, strands catching in--feathers? A feathered cloak, then.

“What do you know about the Lannister Corporation?” Matt asks. “Both of you.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of digging,” says Kate. “They’ve got fingers in every dirty, filthy pie you can think of. You name it, either they or one of their associates have something to do with it, but they’re usually very good at covering their tracks. It’s only now that they’ve gotten sloppy--I’m guessing the death of the guy at the top is one reason.”

“You guess right,” says Snow. “And you were going to wander into one of their traps.” He waves a hand in what Matt figures is the warehouse’s general direction, and says, “They may have gotten sloppy, but they still have claws. The second you stepped through that hole in the fence, they’d have caught you on camera at the very least.”

“So we don’t take that too-convenient hole,” says Matt. “Hawkeye?”

“I borrowed one of Clint’s zipline arrows,” says Kate. “One of the few actually-useful trick arrows he has.” There’s a whirring from her quiver, of a special arrowhead being attached, and she says, “Got anything else, Snow?”

“There’s a cautionary tale about crossing the Lannisters,” Snow says. “Did you ever hear about the Reynes?”

“Yeah, my dad used to go golfing with Reynard Reyne and his brother Roger all the time when I was five,” Kate says, fishing the arrow out from her quiver and raising her bow, nocking the arrow and pulling back the string. Matt steps closer--he half-remembers hearing about the Reynes’ case, back in law school. “Then they had to file for bankruptcy, because someone had leaked company secrets out, and the next thing you know they’re all dying off, till somebody fishes Dad’s old golfing buddy Roger out of the Hudson. Why?”

“They slighted Tywin Lannister,” says Snow. “Roger Reyne thought he and his family could somehow double-cross him, so they and the Tarbecks started putting together a takeover plan. Lannister got word of it, and--well. Roger was the last Reyne, and he was fished out of the Hudson, none of them can testify to anything.” His fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword, the muscles in them tensing.

“Jesus,” Kate murmurs.

Matt glances at him. “The last?” he asks.

“The very last,” Snow says, and his heartbeat remains steady. Not a Reyne, then, but with magic afoot Matt’s not completely sure. “We should get going. The sooner we take care of this, the better.”

\--

It takes about three hours for everything to, very rapidly, go straight to hell. Just their luck, Matt supposed, that the guard woke up when he did.

"Please tell me," he says, flipping over a crate to avoid a wild swing by a worker, "that you've got a getaway plan." The fighting's spilled from the office out into the corridor, then Snow and Matt had fallen off the stairs grappling with their respective opponents and straight onto where the workers were packing heroin.

"Of course I do," Kate scoffs, firing a smoke arrow towards a mob of angry guards about to storm the doorway.

Snow flips a table, sending packets of heroin scattering and a line of workers back, cursing at him. "Do it _now_!" he shouts.

"Give me a sec!" Kate shouts back, diving beneath that same table and fishing out her phone.

Matt slams the heel of his hand up onto the worker's chin, and hears the clack of teeth and tastes the copper in the air. The worker stumbles back, spitting blood, and Matt ducks down and sweeps his legs out from under him, clambering on top before he can get on top and pounding on his face, hearing the crunch of a nose breaking, until the man's gone limp under him.

Only then does he get off, ducking behind the same table as Kate.

"Clint," Kate's saying, "I need an extraction-- _yes_ , things went south, now come over--"

" _Kate, goddammit, futz, are you okay_ \--"

"Of course I'm fine, Barton, when am I not?" Kate huffs. Matt spares a moment to snort out a huff of laughter, just as Snow dives behind the table as well. "We're just a little bit surrounded--yeah, M-- _Daredevil_ came along, so did the new guy in town." She glances towards Snow, and asks, "What's your name again?"

"Snow," he says, " _just_ Snow."

"Ironically, Snow," says Kate. "Also, I've got the files! That's a plus."

Matt hears a click in the distance, and makes a show of poking his head up to see if there's anyone aiming at them. He doesn't, per se, have to, but Snow doesn't know he's blind, and Matt's not about to let that on.

He hears someone inhale.

"Move!" he yells at Kate and Snow, and dives just as a bullet whizzes past.

“God _dammit_ ,” says Kate, hissing from her position under Snow. “Get _off_ me and let me do my job!”

“Sorry about that,” Snow mumbles as he gets up, and Matt’s pretty sure he’s blushing. That would explain why he can feel the sudden heat coming off him, anyway.

Kate springs to her feet, her hand already nocking, drawing, and loosing in one smooth motion, and the arrow whistles through the air and lands with a wet noise. Eyeball, judging from the resulting scream.

“Let’s get out of here,” Matt says, “before more decide to try their luck.”

\--

When they walk--or, well, _limp_ out of the warehouse and into a nearby alley, Jon is leaning heavily on Daredevil, his arm slung over the devil-suited man’s shoulders, and wincing slightly whenever he leans on his leg, the one that got shot a while back. He’s pretty sure he tore his stitches open, and Sam is going to kill him for that, probably.

But they have a number of files that can help bring down Cersei Lannister’s empire around her golden head, stuffed into a drive the size of Kate’s thumb. They’re finally getting somewhere, _he’s_ finally moving towards that goal, and it’s worth the blood they’ve shed and the difficulties they’ve faced tonight, alone.

For a second, he entertains the thought of hanging up the mask, once all this is done--he can still hear Matt’s words in his head. _The law is there for a reason_ , he’d said, and Jon keeps turning what he’s said in his head over and over.

He wishes he could tell him. He wishes he could take the mask out of his pocket, let him trace the outline and the feathers with his fingers, confess everything. He wishes--a lot of things, honestly, this is _Matt_ , and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t have a few fantasies about the man in bed, but he’s--he’s done that before, lying to someone he loved and slept with. Sure, Ygritte’s still his friend, and sure, he still trusts her like he trusts Sam, but she doesn’t trust him the same way anymore.

It still hurts, is the thing, and what hurts even more is the knowledge that, while he did have a good reason, it’s still his fault things ended the way they did, between them.

 _It won’t happen again,_ he promises himself. _It won’t._

“Something on your mind, Snow?” Daredevil asks. Jon glances up, and all right, maybe he’s had a few fantasies about Daredevil too, but his _mouth._

“Nothing,” he lies. “Just thinking about what my friend’s going to say when he finds out I tore my stitches.”

“The same thing Claire is going to say when she finds out I cracked a rib again,” says Kate, hobbling along. “You got lucky for once, Daredevil.”

“For once,” Daredevil echoes.

Jon huffs out a small laugh. “Hey,” he says, squinting at the light up ahead, belonging to a small purple car that Jon has only ever seen before in movies, usually while they're crammed full of people. “Is that--?”

“ _Katie-Kate_!” Clint Barton--also known as _Sam’s landlord_ \--shouts, rolling down the window and waving his hand. He’s signing to them, Jon realizes, and his knowledge of ASL is not enough to hold a conversation with the man, when his hearing aids aren’t working.

A little shiver of fear runs down his spine. His mask is magicked (and god, he wishes he didn’t end up so reliant on magic) so that he’s effectively unrecognizable with it on, unless he takes it off in front of someone, but there’s still that old fear rearing its ugly head, the one that says, _What if someone sees you and knows you, what will happen to Sam, what will happen to Robb, Ygritte, Theon, what if, what if, what if._

Kate signs back, then glances at the two of them. “Clint’s asking if you two want to come along,” she says. “Claire’s place.” She sighs, runs a hand through her hair. “I owe her so many chocolates for this.”

“You pay her in chocolates?” Jon asks.

“And other things,” says Daredevil. “Medical supplies. Allergy medicine when she needs to cat-sit. Towels, books, a new couch, one time.” He shrugs. “Chocolates are fairly common, though.”

“ _Fairly_ meaning we’ve stuffed her cabinets full of them,” says Kate. “Fighting crime’s great, don’t get me wrong, I think everyone should try it out, but it doesn’t really pay well.”

“Except for Luke,” says Daredevil.

“Except for Luke,” Kate agrees, "that lucky bastard," she adds, then limps forward. “Come on, I’m not going to pass out in the middle of an alley if I can help it.”

Jon honestly kind of doubts it’s just chocolates--after all, a woman who patches up all of the vigilantes running around Hell’s Kitchen (and an _Avenger_ ) would make her a prime target for anyone wanting to get at one of them at least. But at the same time, he figures that to target Claire would be akin to painting a target on your head for all the vigilantes of Hell’s Kitchen (and said Avenger) to hit with extreme prejudice.

He leans on Daredevil a little more. The man’s warm, even through the suit, and Jon’s a bit woozy, and his side hurts. “You might be a bit of an ass,” he informs him, “but you’re not too bad, Daredevil.”

“Thank you?” Daredevil says, sounding confused.

“But you have got to tell me where you get that armor of yours,” Jon says, as he clambers into the backseat, hissing in pain when his leg is jarred. “I’m sick of getting shot.”

“Next time,” Daredevil says, sounding amused.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Jon says, and proceeds to pass out on Daredevil’s shoulder.


	6. you're gonna hear me roar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I'm surprised a Lannister would decide on Nelson & Murdock," Foggy's saying._
> 
> Or: Jon and Matt grow a little bit closer. Then a new client shows up at Nelson & Murdock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter title was totally on purpose.

It's a week after the warehouse, and four days since Matt took Snow to Melvin for a fitting, and things are--good. They're _good_ , for once: Foggy and Karen know, and they haven't left, and Claire's teasing him about--whatever he's forming with Snow, and they're working their way through Kate's thumb drive. And there's Jon, of course.

Matt tries his best not to be suspicious, of this sudden turn in his fortune. It's a bad habit, one Foggy's repeatedly told him to snap out of, but whenever things go this well he starts listening for the sound of the other shoe hitting the floor.

The thing is, he doesn't listen quite as closely for the inevitable figurative thud of the other shoe dropping when he's having lunch breaks with Jon. He probably should, he knows his track record with romance is--not the best out there, he'll put it that way, but the problem?

Every time-- _every time_ that Matt finds himself falling in love (because that's what this is, really, he's falling, falling, _falling_ , and Stick would have a thing or two to say about that, he's sure), he starts to think that maybe, just _maybe_ things will go right, this time.

They never do.

Logically, Matt knows that.

But tell that to the way his heart speeds up when he hears Jon's voice.

"We keep meeting up like this here," says Jon, sliding into the seat across from him and setting down two cups, and Matt doesn't hear his dog Ghost so much as _smell_ him, "and you're going to make me think you're taking me out on a date."

"Do you want it to be?" Matt asks, leaning forward and smiling at Jon. He can hear Jon's heartbeat pick up again, and under the chair Ghost bumps against his ankle.

"That," Jon says, after a moment's hesitation, "would be--yes. I'd like it to be. You?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want it to be," Matt says. "So I suppose this is a date."

"And here I am in my old band shirt," Jon dryly says, and Matt fails to keep back a laugh. "If you'd just said it was a date, I would've borrowed my brother's cologne."

"And here I thought you were wearing a tuxedo," Matt teases. "You mean to tell me that all this time I've been talking to someone with a band shirt?"

"Not all the time," says Jon, somewhat loftily. "Sometimes I wear _The Dark Tower_ quotes." A shift in the air, the sound of Jon's hand brushing through his hair, and Matt feels a warm, calloused hand slipping into his, feels Jon's pulse picking up against his thumb. "Anyway, not everyone can go straight to a date from work in a nice suit."

"Perks of being a lawyer," Matt dryly says, memorizing Jon's hands, the scars and callouses and wrinkles, like landmarks on a map. Like Braille. His pulse is quick underneath Matt's skin, and his breath comes quicker when Matt brushes his thumb against his wrist again.

Under the table, Ghost has curled up at Matt's feet.

"I wanted to be a lawyer once," Jon says. "I had my little five-year-old heart set on it--I just knew I was going to be the best lawyer ever, when I was that age."

"What made you change your mind?" Matt asks, and Jon shifts, hand turning Matt's over to rub his finger over Matt's wrist.

"I grew up," says Jon, then: "Why'd you become a lawyer?"

"I wanted to help people," Matt says, and at least he can be honest about this much. "I wanted to do my part, for making my city a better place." And he is, in both jobs, but he doesn't say that part to Jon.

“You’re doing pretty well, then,” Jon says. “I don’t really know many lawyers who successfully helped bring down a criminal empire.” He pauses, then says, “How come you’re still not swimming in clients?”

“We’re very selective about our clientele,” says Matt, which is an absolute lie, because aside from Chapman and one or two people who’ve put them on retainer, they have no clients at all. There’s nobody to be selective about.

Jon gives a disbelieving snort of laughter. “Right,” he says, his tone teasing, “ _sure_ , you’re very selective about them.”

\--

Matt’s tapping his way to the door when he realizes--there’s another heartbeat besides Foggy’s and Karen’s, on the other side. It’s not one he recognizes, and his grip tightens on his cane out of reflex before he forces himself to relax-- _it’s a client, Murdock,_ he tells himself.

“--have to say, I’m a bit surprised a _Lannister_ would decide on Nelson  & Murdock,” Foggy’s saying on the other side, and Matt freezes, his mind running through all the worst-case scenarios. Foggy’s voice is smooth and composed, but Matt can hear his heart--and Karen’s--racing. “Doesn’t your company have access to, like, an army of lawyers?”

“Unfortunately, no,” comes a voice slightly flavored with a New Jersey accent. “Last I checked, it wasn’t _my_ company anymore, and my dear sister cut off any access I had to the family assets.”

“Hard to figure out why she did that,” Karen mutters, too low for anyone but Matt to hear, and from the sound of the man’s footsteps--4’5’’, pacing hurriedly, weight closer to a child than an adult--and from the mention of Cersei Lannister cutting off their probable client’s access to any assets, Matt’s pretty sure he knows his identity.

He opens the door and says, “Foggy, hey, they ran out of bagels.”

“Ah,” says Tyrion Lannister, stopping in his tracks, “the esteemed Matthew Murdock. I’ve heard tales about you and your partner.”

“Aw, bagels,” says Foggy, standing up. “Uh, Matt, this is--”

“Tyrion Lannister,” Matt says. “I’ve heard your voice before. I’ve got a good memory for those.” Which, while not a lie, is also not the whole truth, either, but he’s sure saying, up front, _Kate, Snow and I snatched a thumb drive from a warehouse that has plenty of incriminating evidence on your family’s illegal activities, by the way, did you know your name appears on it about two dozen times?_ would not end well for everyone involved.

“Then we don’t need introductions after all,” Lannister says, but Matt can hear the rapid beat of his heart, can smell the sweat. He’s desperate, their firm is one of, if not the last resort he has. “I’m sure you’ve heard about my father’s mysterious murder, have you not?”

“Some,” says Foggy, carefully.

“We also heard that you disappeared right afterwards,” says Karen.

“There’s a reason for that,” says Lannister. “I killed him.”

\--

“Took you long enough to get here,” says Ygritte, once Jon finally makes it to her place in Bed-Stuy, and Jon huffs out a laugh as Ghost bounds up into Ygritte’s arms. “Heya, Ghost--missed me?”

“He missed you plenty,” says Jon. “What’s up, Ygritte?”

“Nothing much,” she says, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Just been hearing rumors about this guy in a crow mask running around Hell’s Kitchen with Daredevil.”

Jon coughs, shifts from side to side. Ygritte hasn’t looked up at him, is just cooing at Ghost (and he might be a little bit jealous, now, because he hasn’t had much time to devote to Ghost lately), but he can hear the thread of hurt that still weaves into her tone at the mention of his nighttime activities.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“Bullshit,” says Ygritte. “You look like someone used your face for a punching bag.” She looks up now, meets his eyes, and says, “Seriously, that’s a pretty impressive shiner right there.”

“Didn’t see him coming,” Jon confesses, and Ygritte shakes her head and lets out a frustrated breath.

“If I tell you to stop going out there and putting yourself at risk of discovery--by the Lannisters or by the guys who left you for dead--would you do it?” she asks.

Jon lets out a breath, then shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I can’t not do it, Ygritte. You know that. I came back for a reason.”

“Did you find it yet?”

Jon rocks back on his heels. “No,” he admits. “All I have on that front is something about--I don’t know, a gate opening?”

“Would you tell me if you did find out?” Ygritte asks, and there--there’s the crux of it all, the reason why their relationship ended.

“I don’t know,” says Jon, at last.

Ygritte smiles, soft and sad. She isn’t a bad-looking girl, by any means, but the way her smile lit up her entire face was one of the reasons why Jon fell so hard for her. Looking at it now, all it does is break his heart even more. “I’m not surprised,” she says. “You know nothing, Jon Snow.” She pauses, then says, “Or is it Jon _Stark_?”

_No,_ he thinks, _I really don’t._ Out loud he says, “I’m sorry. For not telling you about--well, that. And about the Night's Watch. And--”

“Oh, quiet, Jon. How many times have you told me all that over the past year or so?” Ygritte snorts, scratching Ghost behind the ears. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you did tell me. I just wish you’d done it a lot sooner than you did, and under better circumstances.”

“And for ruining your couch,” Jon adds.

“Seems to me you’re not so sorry over that,” Ygritte says, “if you’re ruining _Sam’s_ couch this time.” She pauses, then says, “How’d you get him to stitch you up? Last time I saw him he turned green at the sight of a papercut.”

“Some whiskey helped,” Jon says, running a hand through his hair.

“Of course it did,” Ygritte says, adjusting her hold on Ghost and stepping closer, leaning up to give Jon a brief peck on the lips. “Be careful, Jon,” she whispers in his ear, before turning around and walking away, Ghost held close.

\--

“You,” says Foggy, very slowly, “did _what_?”

“I killed my father,” Lannister says. “I won’t lie about that, at least. Most everyone thinks I killed Joffrey as well, and while I acknowledge that he was an abusive jackass who I’m not mourning? _Him_ , I didn’t kill.”

“And why, exactly, did you decide that our firm was the perfect fit?” Matt asks, before Foggy can snap something at Lannister.

“Because I, as a Lannister, was privy to many of some of my family’s more illicit activities,” says Lannister, and Matt can sense Karen leaning forward on her desk, honeysuckle-scented hair falling forward, brushing over her shoulders. “I would go to the police, but god only knows who’s spying for my sister, or for one of her supposed allies. Safer to come here, to two of the most honest lawyers I’ve heard of.”

Matt’s fingers tighten around his cane.

“It’s like Fisk all over again,” Foggy mutters.

“That’s why I came to you,” says Lannister. “I plan on telling everyone what I know of my family’s activities, but should I do that, well--only a matter of time till I end up in the Hudson. And as I am _dis_ interested in taking a swim there, I decided: who better to go to with all this damning evidence than the lawyers who took down Wilson Fisk’s empire?”

“So we’re your insurance?” Matt asks.

“Exactly.” Lannister hops up onto a chair, leaning back into the backrest. “My god, are these chairs or rocks?”

A small part of Matt sympathizes with him, because _god_ , their chairs don't really feel like chairs to his back.

“That’s all well and good,” says Foggy, “but our caseload--”

“--has enough room for yours,” Karen says, immediately.

“Excuse us,” says Matt, tapping Foggy’s foot with his cane. “We may need to discuss this. We’ll be back with you in a few minutes, Mr. Lannister.” He smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring manner, but inside he wants--god, he wants to _hit_ something at the possibility, at the mere _thought_ of something like Fisk happening all over again. They _just_ cleaned up the police force.

“Yeah,” says Foggy, darkly, “we’ll need to discuss this. Karen?”

“I’ll be right back, Mr. Lannister,” says Karen, standing up.

\--

“K!” Foggy hisses, once they’ve stepped outside the office. “He _killed his dad_ , and honestly I’m not sure if he didn’t kill this Joffrey guy either, even if he sounds like someone I would like to punch in the melon--”

“This is the break we’ve been waiting for,” Karen hisses back. “Matt, come on, we’re never gonna get a better chance than this.”

“There’s Kate’s thumb drive, _that’s_ incriminating evidence--”

“Yeah, but it isn’t enough, Kate said so herself, we need a witness to bring down _everything_ \--”

“So Matt can find us a witness, right, Matt? I mean, he’s got--uh, special contacts and everything--”

The sound of someone the average height and weight of a child hopping off his chair, then waddling over to the door. Matt leans casually against the door, sniffs the air. He can smell the scent of sweat and expensive cologne (patchouli, cocoa, French labdanum, and Matt suppresses the urge to wrinkle his nose) coming closer, can hear Lannister’s heartbeat and his intake of breath like the roar of lions in his ears.

“I think our prospective client wants to say something,” says Matt, and Lannister lets out a very audible curse from behind the door. “Go on, Mr. Lannister.”

“I can pay,” says Lannister. “A huge amount, in fact. I have an account, independent of the family and the company, that I’ve been saving money in.” A tap on the door, like Lannister drumming his fingers against the wood. “Information, money, and the chance to have a Lannister in your debt! And you know what they say about us.”

“Uh, no, we don’t actually know what they say about you and your family,” says Foggy, “other than, _watch out, you guys, they’re bad news._ ”

“We Lannisters pay our debts,” says Lannister. “Any debt. This, well.” Matt hears him wave his hand, dismissively. “Consider this me paying my debt to my sister. I have a _lifetime’s_ worth of information, Mr. Murdock, Mr. Nelson, Ms. Page, and all of it stuck in my head. It’s past time I let it out, and if it helps bring dear sweet Cersei’s world crashing down around her golden head, well! All the better.”

“We’ll take your case,” says Matt, opening the door, and he hears Foggy swear under his breath, but follow him back inside.

“Let me just clear out the conference room,” says Karen, “I think there’s still leftover take-out on there.”


End file.
